


Beneath the Tree

by robotfvckers



Series: Genyatta Strawpoll Prompts [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Frottage, M/M, Public Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 19:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11720826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotfvckers/pseuds/robotfvckers
Summary: Not even Zenyatta can break some of Genji’s more salacious habits.





	Beneath the Tree

****Zenyatta is thankful for many things.

He is thankful for Mondatta, who taught the shambali stalwart concentration. He is thankful for his siblings and their resilience as they hold lotus with arrays powered off and tilted down. He is thankful for the constant, melodious sound of orbs as they chime and turn in the air, leaving milliseconds of silence between each note.

He is thankful that all of these mask his startled gasp when the heat of another settles against his back, silent as a ghost. Genji had always been stealthy, his formal training honed by a life spent sneaking around the Shimada estate, often with lovers in tow. The years have only enhanced his skill of finding long shadows, dark corners, and currently the shade of the sluggishly budding tree that Zenyatta is seated beneath.

Genji says nothing, instead threading his hands around the pistons at Zenyatta’s waist. Something soft and damp presses between the cables at this shoulders, nudging the sensitive black column of his throat. Zenyatta leaves his hands balanced on his thighs, array off, not wanting to startle the other shambali with such a display. A smaller, more secretive voice supplies that reacting would reveal Genji’s face, which he had taken great lengths to hide, to the entire temple.

Genji unfurls his legs around Zenyatta’s thighs, chest pressed flush against his back. Zenyatta twitches, his soft chirp muffled by the symphony of chimes.

Genji is hard.

Lips turn to teeth along the delicate red wires threaded against his inner core, and he shudders, fingers twitching, processes reallocating to something more physical than pleasant, mindful meditation. His core heats, the quiet whisper of his fans an undercurrent to the meditative ringing.

Genji shakes with his near silent laughter. He grinds once against him, growl vibrating along his spinal wires, Zenyatta echoing the sound when Genji’s incisors catch against a delicate cable.

His student’s name nearly escapes him, held back by rapidly fraying restraint, and his balanced hands flip, twist into his tattered pants. Genji isn’t content to linger, tracing restless circles, the soft, smooth give of his synthetics distracting and warm. His fingers pluck along his supports, sliding lower, and for a moment Zenyatta thinks Genji will slip into his pants. Instead, his student cups him through the fabric, his other arm wrapping tight and possessive around his middle. Genji knows him too well, traces the seams of his modesty panel with greedy, dextrous fingers, and though the sensation is a muted, fleeting thing, his intent shakes a groan from Zenyatta’s voice box.

His array flickers on, recording the neat row of shambali before him, Mondatta to his left, arrays dark, sensory input blocked to allocate more power for concentration.

Genji strokes against his paneling, pressing his palm in smooth, even strokes, and it’s gone too far, this little game they play, balanced on a dangerous line. Zenyatta squirms. It is the wrong thing to do; Genji bites his pistons hard enough to dent, his warm, green aura flaring for an instant, possessive, wanting. Zenyatta tosses his head back with a quiet clink, exposing more of his throat to Genji’s mouth, grasping his wrist but doing nothing to stop him. He feels the cyborg’s energy soften, groomed into place with pleasure and contentedness.

Zenyatta’s temperature increases, valve swelling, growing plump and soft with slick. His fans whir louder, and he stares at the arrays of his siblings as Genji ruts against him, the gentlest press of his hips against his lower back, the motions making Zenyatta quake. He wants to be somewhere more private, wants to show Genji what happens to mischievous students who tease their masters.

The kisses and bites never cease, always shifting, finding new, more sensitive, secret places, places Zenyatta did not know would respond so eagerly to stimulation. He stifles another groan threatening to expose them both, and Genji huffs, pleased, hand teasing upward, dipping into his pants.

Pressure at his throat, Genji clamping his palm across Zenyatta’s voice box, muffling the small gasp when his fingers press the latch of Zenyatta’s panel, releasing his half-hard cock with a few, expert motions.

 _Incorrigible_ , Zenyatta thinks with what power he can muster; Genji could easily disable his voice box. He wants Zenyatta to struggle, or perhaps he wants to be discovered, let everyone and the Iris know to whom he belonged.

The audience does not stall his desire, though quiet discord and startling heat settles in his chassis at the thought of being caught, shamed in front of Mondatta’s entire congregation. His brother’s star pupil, disgracing the sanctity of his teachings in such a salacious way.

He strains when Genji’s fist closes around his cock, bringing him to full hardness in a few pulls. The tendons and hardy machinery of Genji’s wrist creaks in Zenyatta’s grip, his other hand flattening over Genji’s at his throat. The omnic trembles, wanting, pleasure and fear warring inside him. Beads of teal slick bleed onto Genji’s fingers, his strokes turning slippery smooth and impossibly delicious. Zenyatta’s sounds spill muffled against their hands, the vibrations of them felt through Genji’s palm.

An exhalation that sounds suspiciously like a shush registers on his sensors, and Zenyatta is trying, but Genji has had many hours to explore his body, its intricacies, the touches that make his body glow and flood with power. He cannot win against the hand coaxing pleasure from him, each process focused on Genji working him to pieces.

It is slow, too slow, Genji can only move so quickly, else the slick sounds of their bodies rocking against each other will grow too loud, too noticeable, chimes or not. He is accustomed to being teased until he is reduced to a trembling mess of clicks and whirs and static. His student takes great joy in it, only allowing Zenyatta to overload with quickened presses and warm praise when Genji is satisfied.

They do not have the benefit of time and privacy. Still as discord and pleasure twist inside him, buzz hot along his wires, throb in the sensors of his cock and the fragile wires of his back where Genji ruts, the pressure builds.

Focus on the orbs. Focus on keeping quiet. Focus on not being discovered. It takes more concentration than he knows, enough to pull attention away from the hot, steady fingers at his cock, but it’s impossible to ignore the swelling pressure, especially when Genji’s hands slip down, circling the glowing nub above his swollen valve that aches for his touch.

Always more sensitive there, as a human’s would be, more sensors, easy to overstimulate, but undeniable when stroked properly, and Genji has learned him well. The omnic strains against him, doing everything he can to hold still, quaking in his grip. His hips twitch forward, catching the smooth pads of Genji’s fingers, and Zenyatta wishes for another hand on him; it would be quick then, unstoppable. The grinding, gentle press awakens a telltale ache deep within, sensors primed but unstimulated. In any other situation, he would have Genji mount him, take him so deeply that he would sob from the force of it, ride Genji until his student begged to come and Zenyatta would let him have it and more.

When had he ever denied his student anything?

Genji’s fingers curl just inside him, teasing his folds, and Zenyatta rocks against it, pleading with his body what he cannot say with words. The cyborg pushes deeper, then gives his valve, hot to the touch and so slick, one final stroke before returning to his cock. Zenyatta grunts, sensors heightened, close, Genji working right beneath the glowing, leaking tip where a bundle of sensors lie pulsing, throbbing for input.

Zenyatta panics as his body seizes, unsure if he can stay silent, stay still, as his systems begin to crash, overclocked with input, pleasure firing through every synapse, every nerve alight with it. Genji circles forefinger and thumb over and over right _there_ ; Zenyatta draws tight and impossibly stiff as he trembles through his orgasm, systems offlining, array flashing. Genji catches the slick in his palm, his own grunts and low, pleased huffs heard only by Zenyatta as he grips Zenyatta’s throat so tightly that the metal nearly gives.

The master slumps against his student, sluggishly rebooting, pleasure synapses misfiring, aftershocks burning through his systems deliciously as Genji mouths at the divot of his neck and shoulder.

Genji’s hand, cupped around the head of his still hard cock, slips low, smearing the slick against his valve, pressing the excess back into him, feeding him his own spend, and it’s filthy, obscene somehow.

Genji strokes, fingers, forces the extra inside when it begins to leak. He stuffs him full before closing his modesty panel, and oh, it throbs, slick bubbling at the seams of his panel, threatening to spill. Zenyatta wants more, and Genji knows it as he escapes back into the canopy of the tree.

He knows Genji will return to his modest room in the village, knows Zenyatta will seek him out, their game far from over.

The mediation goes on for some time, though the only thing Zenyatta focuses on is the insistent throb of his body and the fading warmth of Genji that lingers along his back.

Lost within the promise of finding Genji, of finishing what his student started, Zenyatta does not notice the closest vertical row of Mondatta’s array powering off when he moves to stand.

**Author's Note:**

> For more fic and prompt requests, I'm on [tumblr](https://robotfvckers.tumblr.com).


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